


Does This Druid Cult Even have a Name?

by raven_of_hydecastle



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arthur adopts Merlin, Banter, Brainwashing, Caring Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Druid Merlin (Merlin), Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapped Arthur, Male Friendship, Past Abuse, Physical Abuse, Poor Arthur, Poor Merlin, Verbal Abuse, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-06 14:10:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18389987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raven_of_hydecastle/pseuds/raven_of_hydecastle
Summary: The last thing Arthur expected was to kidnapped by a cult of melodramatic druids, determined to brainwash him into legalizing magic. To make matters worse, his warden is a sarcastic, naive druid boy--Merlin.





	Does This Druid Cult Even have a Name?

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, it's another new fic. My other series are dead in the water right now. But at least this one is finished, aye?

Being kidnapped was never fun. Arthur was sick of it, and to make matters worse, he couldn’t get out of his bonds. His captors--ex-druids by the looks of them--sneered down at him as he finally stopped struggling.

“At long last, we have the son of Uther Pendragon in our grasp,” one said. “our ambition can finally be fulfilled.”

“Just what do you want with me?” Arthur demanded, giving his chains a good rattle.

“What all our people want, but are too afraid to fight for,” Rodan, the leader of the elders said, his bulging eyes wide and excited. “Freedom.”

“And how is kidnapping a crown prince going to give you that?” Arthur said. “You’re a fool if you think my father will give into your demands.”

The elders chuckled, sharing some private joke. After a moment, Rodan turned back to Arthur, a sly smile on his face.

“Oh, there is no need for force.” he said, “Arthur Pendragon, you will pass the law yourself once you are king.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he snapped, “I would never--”

“Oh, but you will, soon enough,” Rodan replied, running a hand over his gold medallion. “Once we’ve… convinced you that it’s the best thing to do, anyway.”

So, it would be torture. Arthur squared his shoulders, preparing for the worst. He would never give into the likes of these sorcerers, especially if the fate of Camelot rested on his shoulders.

“I would rather die,” he said calmly. “No force on this earth can turn me against my kingdom.”

One of the elders rolled his eyes, but Rodan just kept smiling. “Do not underestimate the power of magic, sire. We have ways of changing your mind. Each evening a drop of elixir is dropped into the goblet of Archash, which sits beneath a skylight in this cavern. Soon it will be filled, and once you drink from it, your will is ours.”

They laughed again as they left the cell. Arthur felt the blood rush to his head, and he yanked futilely against the chains that bound him.

 

***

 

The elders weren’t the only druids in the cave. Sympathetic sorcerers had flocked to Rodan’s promise of power, and Arthur could hear them murmuring to each other from his cell. After a few hours trying (and failing) to break out of his chains, one of them approached his cell. Arthur tensed, expecting Rodan.

A short, scrawny druid tottered into view, overwhelmed with a pile of food and blankets.

“Evening!” he said to Arthur, struggling with the latch on the cell door. “How are you feeling?”

“Awful,” Arthur said, nodding towards his raw wrists.

The boy practically fell into the cell and started unwrapping the blankets. He’d brought so many Arthur was getting hot just looking at them.

“Sorry about that. You cold? Hungry?” he asked, moving to start laying the blankets on him.

“No,” Arthur tried to inch away from the stuffy fabric, “and how am I supposed to eat with my hands tied?”

“Oh, I’m supposed to feed you,” the young man said brightly, “if you got a hand free I doubt we’d be able to stop you from escaping. Druids aren’t really known for fighting. My job is to give you a hand, literally.”

On one hand, it was a smart move for the druids to keep him bound. On the other, nothing could have been more humiliating for Arthur than being fed like a baby by some random kid.

“I’m not hungry,” he decided.

“Now, don’t be like that,” the boy chided, “you’re not going to get fed very often, and I snuck you extra. Look, a _roll_!”

He held up a (frankly stale) bread roll with zealous glee. The other food on the plate was raw carrots, cabbage, and something… preserved that Arthur couldn’t identify. If this was ‘extra’, he didn’t want to see what the druids normally ate.

“You eat it if it’s so good,” Arthur told him, “I’m not going to die because I skipped one meal.”

“Oh-ho, if you insist,” the boy said, sitting down and getting comfortable. “But I warn you, bribing me with food isn’t going to help you escape. I’m a master guard-thing.”

“Guardsman.”

“Yeah, that,” he said, stuffing the roll into his mouth. “So, you’re going to be king of Camelot?”

“Obviously,” Arthur said, “why do you think your people kidnapped me?”

“Maybe for being an ungrateful prat?” the boy mused, “funny though, I thought you’d be more… impressive.”

“You’re saying I’m not kingly?” Arthur asked hotly.

“I’m saying the last couple days haven’t made you easy on the eyes,” the boy said, “that shirt looks like a dead rat. Did they drag you through a bog?”

“A couple,” he admitted. “It wasn’t a pleasant journey. Do you have any idea how isolated this village is?”

It had taken two days through nearly impassable terrain to reach it, and the entire clan lived inside a huge, dark cave. There was hardly any good farmland, and the sky was constantly under cloud cover. Talk about gloomy.

“Well, you can hardly blame us for that,” the boy said, wiping off his hands, “Uther isn’t very nice to druids. Mushroom?”

He held up one of the unidentifiable things--apparently a fungus. It looked more like jelly at this point. Arthur shook his head. The kid shrugged and plopped it in his mouth. Arthur got over his gag reflex; he needed information, and if this druid was feeling talkative, maybe he could find a way to escape.

“So, tell me,” he said, “what is that cup your elders were talking about?”

“The Goblet of Archash?” the boy said, licking the vinegar off his fingers, “it’s some old relic I’m not supposed to touch. They keep it locked up in the middle of the mountain. It’s going to make you do what they say.”

“Yeah, I gathered that. Listen, is there a ritual or something I have to do for the spell to work?” Arthur asked. If he could do it incorrectly the druids would release him none the wiser.

As if he sensed Arthur’s intention, the young druid raised an eyebrow at him.

“Just so you know,” he said, “Nobody bothers to tell me anything aside from useless old prophecies. And you’re wasting your time trying to outsmart the cup; you drink, you’re enslaved. Pretty simple, right?”

Arthur groaned; there went his escape plan.

“Don’t worry,” the young man said, patting his knee in a friendly gesture. He left slimy fingerprints on Arthur’s pants. “I’m sure you won’t mind being mind controlled once the spell sets in. The elders tested the cup on somebody a year ago, and they’re happy as a clam.”

“Surprisingly, that _doesn’t_ make me feel better,” Arthur replied.

“Well, I tried,” the kid shrugged, picking up the now empty platter. “Thanks for the food, just don’t tell anyone about it; I’m supposed to be fasting.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” Arthur said in monotone, “praise the gods that I am here to help you in your time of need. Truly I am an honorable soul who doesn’t deserve my fate.”

“Haha,” the boy rolled his eyes, “That’s hilarious. I’ll see you later, your highness.”

As he relocked the cell door somebody shouted in the distance; they sounded annoyed.

“Rats, I took too long,” the boy said, “bye Arthur!”

He sprinted away from the cell, leaving the door hanging slightly ajar. Arthur tried to squeeze his hand through the manacles--if he could just get out, his exit was guaranteed! But no, the chains were too tight. Arthur swore under his breath. Freedom was so close, yet so far. Curse that boy; this was worse than torture.

 

***

 

After an uneasy night trying to sleep with his arms chained to the wall, Arthur was woken up by a bucket of cold water in his face.

“Prince Arthur,” Rodan smirked, setting down the bucket, “it is good to see you’re awake.”

Arthur glared at him, soaked to the bone. It was the leader; he was tall and round like a barrel. His old, tattered robes had once been fine, and he had an oily countenance.

“You here to torture me?” he asked.

“No,” the man said, “merely here to prepare you for the ritual.”

He dabbed a splotch of oil onto Arthur’s forehead and muttered something in druidic for several minutes.

“There, that wasn’t so hard.” he smiled.

“Then you didn’t need to wake me up!” Arthur growled.

“Oh, I do apologize, but the spell very specifically says you must be conscious. The goblet wouldn’t be as effective otherwise.” Rodan said, then turned to the corner. “Merlin, come and dry off the king of Camelot. I will return in an hour to repeat the process.”

The young man from yesterday stepped out of the shadows and started dabbing Arthur’s face with an old towel. One of his hands had a red lash across it, and Arthur noticed again how thin he was.

“So, your name’s Merlin?” he grunted and Rodan exited the cell.

“Yeah, one of them anyway,” Merlin replied, “hold still.”

“You got more names?” Arthur asked. “What for?”

“Customs and symbolism mostly,” he murmured. “It’s a druid thing.”

“So what does Merlin mean?” he asked.

The boy got red and mumbled something.

“What?” Arthur asked.

“S’ means...k on…” he grumbled.

“Speak louder.”

“...It means ‘still needs work’,” he said.

Arthur couldn’t help it; he laughed. Merlin’s face got beet red the louder he roared, but for the life of him, Arthur couldn’t stop.

“S-Still needs work?” He gasped, “ _that’s_ your name?!”

“Shut up,” he grumbled, “I didn’t choose it.”

“‘Still needs work’,” Arthur chuckled, “that’s grand.”

“At least I’m not chained to a bloody wall by cultists,” he snapped and smacked him with the towel.

“What’s your other name, ‘getting better’ or ‘not quite there yet’?”

“Not funny,” he said, “my other name is way cooler… it just doesn’t get used much.”

He wrung out of the towel and prepared to wipe down Arthur’s arms. The red welt stood out against his pale skin like a burn.

“What happened to you?” Arthur asked, his mirth fading.

Merlin frowned down at the injury. “Oh, I had some crumbs on my shirt yesterday and they thought I stole something from the storeroom. Almost got whipped for breaking my fast, but I convinced them that I had to test your roll for poison to get you to eat.”

“That’s awful,” Arthur said.

“Well, we can’t afford to indulge right now, what with the food shortage,” Merlin shrugged, “Bandits raided a month ago and we’re still not back on our feet. There, you’re all dry. But… hmm, maybe I should get you a new shirt.”

“It’s fine,” he said, “Merlin, you do realize you’re living in a swamp? There’s hardly anything decent to eat in a good year, much less now. Why are you druids living here?”

“Well…” Merlin said, glancing at the door, “I’d tell you that we had no other choice, but really Rodan and the others insisted. They’re very pleased about their plan, and once they get you under their control they want a druid as regent on the throne.”

“A druid?! Of all the hare-brained--”

“Oh, don’t be mean!” the young man pleaded, “it’s their life work, they’d hate to be ridiculed. Plus they’d probably punish you.”

“Is that what happens to people who speak out?” Arthur asked, nodding towards Merlin’s hand.

Merlin scowled, pulling his sleeve over his palm.

“Hey, listen,” Arthur said, “this isn’t normal. Leaders don’t oppress their people like this--Rodan and the elders are bad men.”

“Funny that I’m hearing this from Uther Pendragon’s son,” Merlin scoffed, “he punishes his people a whole lot too.”

Arthur snapped his mouth shut and glared at the young man. Merlin glared back, still holding his sleeve over his hand.

“You have to see sense,” Arthur said carefully, “they’re using you.”

“I know,” Merlin snapped, then quieter, “it’s rather hard to miss.”

“Then why stay?” Arthur demanded. “There’s no food, no light, certainly no good farmland, and your elders hurt you!”

“And where am I supposed to go? Camelot?” Merlin said, “I’d be dead in a day, and the other kingdoms are just as bad. At least here I’m safe.”

He backed away from Arthur and left the cell.

“Merlin!” he called, but the boy didn’t come back.

 

***

 

Arthur’s new escape plan was simple; get Merlin to let him out. Easier said than done, given that the boy was convinced brainwashing wasn’t a big deal. Not surprising, given how addled he was himself.

After their first fight, Arthur tried to be more tactful around Merlin, asking about his family, where he was from, how long he’d been with the elders, and so on. Merlin was terse at first but opened up quickly. There weren’t many people in the caves that talked to him apparently, and when they did he said it was very uncomfortable.

Merlin was adopted, to put it politely. He didn’t remember his life before the druid elders--who were an offshoot of some dark cult--took him in, but mentioned something vague about bandits and a caravan. His parents were traveling when they were attacked, and only Merlin survived. Arthur didn’t buy it; he doubted Rodan would have taken a baby in out of the goodness of his heart. It wouldn’t surprise him if they’d stolen Merlin from his cradle, and Merlin’s less than stellar commentaries on the men didn’t lessen this impression.

“I do a lot of the work around here,” he said as he picked over Arthur’s dinner one night, “they’re all too old you see. It’s supposed to build character, and I’m not very useful right now.”

“So, you’re their slave,” Arthur summed up.

“No, no,” Merlin scowled, “slaves get beaten…” Arthur nodded towards his hand. Merlin glared. “Regularly. Besides, they teach me all sorts of things; how to read, write, magic, history--”

“You know magic?” Arthur interrupted. The scrawny kid suddenly looked more dangerous.

“Yeah, a little,” he shrugged, “but I’m not very good. Something always goes wrong with my spells, like something is getting in the way. That’s why I’m ‘still needs work’; my druid name won’t be official until I can at least hold my own with enchantments.”

Merlin sighed, poking a jelly-fungus dejectedly. His name wasn’t funny to Arthur anymore. He was quite starting to like the boy, despite his occasionally sharp tongue. The derisive nickname felt mean-spirited.

“You know, I’ve heard another meaning for ‘Merlin,’” he said.

Merlin looked up curiously and cocked his head, a bit like his namesake bird.

“Well, there’s the whole ‘falcon’ thing, which makes you a bird of prey; fierce, protective, and so on,” he began. Merlin perked up. “But I’ve also heard it used to refer to a fortress by the sea, the last defense against the tide; immovable, sturdy, and powerful.”

“Really?’ Merlin grinned, “that’s so cool!”

“Exactly,” Arthur nodded, “so remember your name means more than what you think. The elders don’t decide who you are.”

“Wow, a seaside fortress… I’ve always wanted to see the ocean,” Merlin murmured, eyes getting misty, “I wonder if I can once magic is legal.”

“Oh yeah, you’ve never let this ‘village’, have you?” Arthur said, remembering Merlin’s childhood. “Well, the ocean is beautiful, if not a bit terrifying.”

“Why?” Merlin asked, leaning closer excitedly.

“Get off me,” he grumbled, shaking off the kid. Merlin settled back down, pouting a little. “When you see it you’ll understand. There’s just so much of it, and so much power in the waves, that it puts things into perspective.”

“I wonder if the elders will let me go there,” Merlin mused.

“You know,” Arthur began (this was his chance!), “you don’t have to wait for the elders to give you permission…”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I was thinking--”

“Merlin! What are you doing in here?”

Both of them startled, and Merlin looked guiltily towards the door. Rodan stood, his hands clenched around the bars, the picture of wrath. His eyes fixed on the half-eaten roll in Merlin’s hands, and the extra blankets he’d given Arthur.

“Get out, NOW!” he roared.

Merlin scurried to his feet and trembled in front of Rodan.

“--breaking your fast, listening to that monster tell tales,” the druid seethed, ripping the roll out of Merlin’s hands, “I ought to have you flogged--”

“Leave him alone!” Arthur shouted, wishing for the thousandth time his hands were unchained so he could strangle the druid. “He didn’t do anything.”

But Rodan ignored him, glaring daggers into Merlin. The druid’s face was redder than the jelly-fungus on Arthur’s dinner plate.

“The ritual is tomorrow, you half-witted welp!” he spat, “all you have to do is listen to me for once in your life, and everything we’ve dreamed of will come to pass!”

Merlin shrank until he looked half his height, ashen-faced and shameful. He absently rubbed his forearm, as if he were remembering an old injury. Arthur seethed as he realized this was how Merlin was treated all the time--by the men who claimed they were his family.

“Rodan,” he growled. “Stop it.”

Something in his voice made the druid stop chastising his ward. He looked over at Arthur with surprise and --to Arthur’s satisfaction--a little fear.

But his bluster came back quickly, and he grabbed Merlin by the arm.

“I’ll speak to him how I want,” he said, “Come Merlin, we must prepare for the ritual. The young Pendragon will understand our ways soon enough…”

He pulled Merlin away from the cell, the poor boy looking ready to cry. Arthur yanked against his chains and shouted: “I would never let a brute like you into Camelot, magic or no; release him!”

Rodan clucked his tongue and vanished from view. Arthur struggled, but couldn’t get free. A drop of blood fell from his wrist as his skin chafed.

“Let go of Merlin, Rodan!” he yelled, “let him go!”

 

***

 

Merlin didn’t come back to Arthur’s cell. Most likely Rodan was keeping him under lock and key so he wouldn’t sneak another roll. Oh no, Merlin gaining weight, the horror!

Arthur, meanwhile, renewed his efforts to escape. He didn’t care if the manacles were cutting into his skin, he was getting out of them; what difference did a few more cuts make?

His goals had changed; he was going to get out, punch Rodan in the nose, and get Merlin out of this toxic environment. Anywhere was better than this dump, and Merlin was just as much of a prisoner as he was. Even Camelot wouldn’t be so bad, as long as nobody knew he was a druid.

He had nearly gotten his right hand freed when the cell door opened. A big, shifty looking druid stepped into the room, followed by three more men. He glanced at Arthur’s wrists and huffed.

“Stop that,” he said, “we’re letting you out.”

Arthur couldn’t believe his ears. “What?”

“stand up,” the man said, “it’s time for the ritual."

“Oh, for the love of--I don’t have time for this!” Arthur snapped. He had to get Merlin and book it to the nearest village. A crazy druid cult was _not_ on his agenda right now!

The thugs unhooked his chains from the wall and Arthur leapt at the biggest man, but the other two yanked him away with his chains (still attached to his hands). He hissed as the metal scraped his skin. Great.

They led him roughly through the cave; it was bigger than Arthur thought, stretching far under the mountain. Dirty and suspicious druids skulked in the corners, leering at him with malice. They were the collection of the meanest, most dirty specimens Arthur had seen outside of a bandit camp, and there were no children. They whispered as he passed them, some gleeful, others shaking their heads. There was no love for the Pendragons here.

He stumbled to a halt in front of a large, wooden door that opened into a large, moonlit cavern. A skylight was carved out of the ceiling by hand, a beam of moonlight shining down on a stone dais.

The five druid elders stood in a circle around the dais, and on it was a small, wooden cup. And chained to the stone circle, with both hands bleeding, was Merlin.

“Ah, the young prince is ready to join us,” Rodan said, while Arthur stared at his friend in shock. “Bring him here.”

The men pushed Arthur forward and hooked his chains to the floor so he couldn’t move.

“You will now become one of us,” Rodan said majestically, raising his arms to the sky. “and a new age of magic will descend upon the world!”

Merlin looked blearily up at Arthur, a bruise forming on his cheek. He blinked slowly, looking around. Then he seemed to realize where he was.

“Oh no,” he said, slumping.

“Ah, the young boy is awake,” Rodan chuckled. “Merlin, it seems you are just in time to see history happen. Aren’t you pleased your destiny will carry on?”

“My destiny--you said my destiny couldn’t happen yet,” Merlin slurred.

Rodan picked up a knife from the dais and turned it over in his hands. The blade glinted silver.

“Well,” Rodan said, “I told you we were working on it. There were some complications, but now I have the solution to all our problems.”

He raised the blade and balanced it against Merlin’s throat.

“What are you doing?” Arthur gasped, “don’t hurt him!”

Rodan chuckled, wiggling the blade a bit. Merlin swallowed nervously, white as a sheet.

“Amusing, Arthur Pendragon is defending a druid,” Rodan commented, and the other druids laughed.

“Get away from him!” Arthur growled, cutting his wrist on the manacles’ sharp edges.

“Oh, I don’t think I will,” Rodan said, staring hungrily down at Merlin, “you see, we need him for the spell. Merlin is going to help us.”

His knife dug into Merlin’s neck, and a pinprick of blood puddled on the blade.

“W-Why?” Merlin gasped, “what did I do?”

Rodan laughed. “Oh Merlin, you didn't do anything. You’re just not qualified to be Emrys.”

“But that’s my name,” Merlin said desperately, “the fates told me so. I’m going to bring magic back to Camelot, and you promised to help!”

Arthur remembered Merlin mentioning his true druid name--the one everybody refused to call him. Emrys, the immortal one, and king of the druids.

“As if we would bow to a clumsy halfwit like you,” one of the druids sneered, “we can make much better use of your powers.”

“And we have,” Rodan chuckled, “None of us would be nearly so powerful if you hadn’t been lending us your magic.”

Arthur felt like he had another bucket of cold water dumped on him. Merlin’s eyes widened as he looked at his caretakers in horror.

“Y-You mean the reason I can’t do magic is because you’re stealing it from me?” he whispered, hurt etched in his face. “Why?”

The moon was directly overhead, and the moonlight seemed to solidify into a drop of light. It fell into the cup, and the water glowed with magic. One sip and Arthur would be their slave forever.

“You see Merlin,” Rodan said, smiling down at his ward, “we wondered what to do with you for the longest time. You could drink out of the goblet, for instance, but all we really want is your magic. _You’re_ expendable.”

He leaned closer to Merlin until their heads nearly touched. His next words were whispered with milk-curdling malice.

“And it just so happens that I know a spell to cut out the middleman. One drop of your blood mixed into the goblet before Arthur drinks, and your power will belong to us forever. No need to keep you around after that, is there?”

“Please don't take my name,” Merlin whispered, lips trembling.

Rodan smiled and slashed Merlin’s throat.

Arthur drew in a ragged breath, unable to look away as a necklace of red beads dripped down from Merlin’s neck like pearls. Fortunately, the cut was shallow.

Merlin gasped, beginning to hyperventilate as Rodan mixed the starlight with his blood. Rodan lifted the cup over his head and chanted in druidic. The others joined in, transferring dark power into the goblet. The naked greed on their faces made Arthur sick.

He turned to Merlin; the boy was staring at the ground in shock, his shirt getting soaked red. If he really was Emrys, there had to be something he could do to stop this--a spell, an ancient druid law, Something!

“Merlin,” Arthur said, not caring how desperate he sounded, “Merlin, you have to stop them or they’ll kill you! Use your magic!”

Rodan laughed as he finished the chant. “‘Do something’? Merlin can’t do anything; he’s nothing but a waste of space.”

“You’re wrong!” Arthur shouted, and locked eyes with Merlin, “I believe in him.”

The boy looked at him--really looked at him for the first time since he had entered the room. Arthur tried to wordlessly convey everything he felt: Merlin was ten times better than these madmen. Even after a lifetime of mistreatment, he had a pure heart and optimism in spades. If there was one person who could rise about their circumstances, it was him.

 _I don’t even care if we get out of this,_ he thought, _I just want him to believe in himself._

Rodan scoffed and lifted the goblet to Arthur in a mock toast.

“We’ll see how much that belief helps you overcome the magic of the Old Religion,” he said, “Now, drink.”

He raised the goblet to Arthur’s lips, the red liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim. Arthur thrashed, struggling against the thugs’ grips, but one of them forced his mouth open with a meaty hand.

“Arthur Pendragon,” Rodan hissed, “your will is mine.”

“No.”

Roden paused, the elixir lapping against the cup’s rim. Arthur’s heart pounded at a hundred miles an hour. The druid turned to face Merlin, who was staring defiantly at him from his place on the ground.

“What did you say to me?” he asked dangerously.

“I-I won’t let you do this,” Merlin stuttered, “Arthur’s my friend.”

“Ha!” the druid barked, “As if you could stop me now.”

Merlin closed his eyes, focusing on staying calm. “You can’t take my name, and I won’t let you use my magic anymore.”

“Your name,” Rodan spat, shaking the glass mockingly, “will be mine in mere seconds. And once I strip you of it, you’ll be _nothing_.”

“No, you’re wrong,” Merlin replied, opening his eyes, “I’m a bird of prey and a fortress by the sea.”

His eyes glowed molten gold. Rodan gasped and raised his arm, preparing a counterspell. But he was too late, and Arthur watched in shock as the druid flew backward, colliding with the wall. The cup fell from his fingers and bounced against the floor. The potion spilled everywhere.

Rodan’s companions shrieked and ran towards it like animals.

“No, our powers!” one wailed.

“Our uprising is finished!”

Rodan got to his feet, clutching one of his arms. The look on his face was nothing short of murderous.

“Kill the boy, kill him!” he screamed, pointing at Merlin.

The other druids ran towards the young sorcerer. Merlin shouted something in the old tongue and both his chains snapped apart. He scrambled away before one of the elders tried to choke him.

“Hey, a little help?” Arthur hollered, kicking one of the thugs back to the floor since his hands were still tied.

Merlin’s eyes flashed gold and Arthur’s bonds disintegrated.

“About time,” he grunted, cracking his knuckles.

He kicked, punched, and whupped druid-rear while Merlin used his magic hold the other sorcerers at bay. His hands were a whirl of magic signs and reflexive flinches. He certainly wasn’t an expert, but without his magic, Rodan and the others could barely fight back.

Then, just as Arthur had Rodan where he wanted him, the door burst open and a dozen more druids ran inside, wielding farming tools and cookware, and screaming at the top of their lungs.

“Oh, come on!” Arthur howled, “give me a break!”

“We need to leave,” Merlin gasped, snagging the goblet off the floor. “Arthur, hurry!”

He thrust his arm out and blew the druids backward, giving them an opening. Arthur grabbed Merlin’s wrist and tore through the room, praying that there weren’t any more druids waiting in the wings.

 

***

 

Merlin led him through the caves, and in less time than Arthur thought possible, they were slipping out of a side entrance into the wilderness.

The forest was a dark, misty patch of bog no human should have seen fit to live in. Arthur and Merlin navigated it quickly, hoping to outrun the crazed lunatics on their tail.

“Merlin, that was amazing!” Arthur huffed when they stopped to rest. “You defeated over fifteen druids!”

“Didn’t know I had it in me,” he answered, wiping his face. His shirt was covered in sweat, and dyed red from his throat wound.

“How’s your neck?” Arthur asked, trying to get a closer look.

“He didn’t cut deep,” Merlin said, “I’ll be okay as long as it’s not infected.”

“We’re in a bog; that’s more than likely.”

“Rats.”

“Listen, Merlin, what you did was very brave,” Arthur said, “I can’t thank you enough for saving my life today.”

“Ew, don’t get all mushy like that,” he snorted, trying to hide his smile, “I might think you actually care.”

“You’re right, I better watch myself,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I wouldn’t want you to misunderstand.”

“Good.”

He helped Merlin get back on his feet, and they tramped through the woods in the direction of Camelot.

“How far do you think they’ll follow us?” Arthur asked, glancing back at the distant mountain.

“As long as we have this,” Merlin said, raising the goblet of Achash. “Which won’t be long.”

He turned on his heel and chucked it into the marsh. It sank like a stone. “Serves it right; I never trusted that weird lump of wood,” he grumbled, stuffing his hands inside his pockets.

“At least they won’t be finding it any time soon,” Arthur commented. “By the way, you seem to be taking all this rather well.”

“If you mean being beaten, nearly killed by my foster family, and realizing that I’m not the hopeless idiot they always thought I was, then don’t worry, I’m going to have a panic attack in a couple of seconds and start shrieking like a girl.” he said, “I’m just trying not to think too hard about it right now.”

“What are you going to do?” Arthur asked. “You’re free now.”

Merlin looked around the woods like there would be a map telling him what to do lying around.

“I… don’t know,” he said eventually, “there’s so much I want to see, so many places to visit… Where should I start?”

“The ocean?” Arthur suggested.

Merlin began to smile. “Yeah, that sounds good. Oh, but I don’t know the way.”

“I do,” he said, “tell you what, there’s a position open at the castle for a manservant. You’re already used to cleaning, so I could put a good word in for you to the lord in question. He’s sure to hire you.”

“Really?” Merlin gasped, “Arthur, that’d be awesome! I’d be able to save for the journey that way, and when I have enough we can go together.”

“No need, you’ll be busy enough traveling with your master, keeping his armor clean and his socks folded. All that riveting stuff.”

“Oh, okay, I think I'd like that” Merlin said, stumbling over a fern, “who is this lord anyway?”

“Why his name is Arthur Pendragon,” the prince said, “I hear he’s a really handsome devil--”

Merlin squealed and gave him a hug.

“Yes, yes, yes!”

“Merlin, get off me, you’re being gross!” Arthur hissed, pretending to swat the young man away.

“You’re the best friend ever!” Merlin shouted, ignoring him, and he hung on Arthur’s arm all the way to Camelot, planning their next adventure.

**Author's Note:**

> A note on names:
> 
> -Merlin does mean 'Falcon' and 'fortress by the sea' but I made up the 'still needs work' part. It is not real, don't name your child Merlin with this meaning in mind!
> 
> The title is thanks to my roommates and their awesomeness.


End file.
